side. With donuts.”
I was left with a low hum in my ear but no more voices. Even still, Delilah’s hidden presence provided the final piece of confidence I needed. Smoothing my hands down my gown, I exhaled. Looked up. Caught Sam staring at me with blatant lust. With a sardonic smirk, he pressed his finger to his lips. Pointed to his ear.
I shrugged. Gave him a funny twirl in my gown. It had come from Delilah’s never-ending closet of gorgeous eveningwear. The black, clingy dress was cut low, my hair in a bun to ensure no one could spot the earpieces.
Sam took a giant step toward me. Paused the elevator right below the second floor. We came to a grinding halt.
“Time check—ninety seconds,” he said.
But he wasn’t looking at his watch. He was still staring at me.
Sam’s knuckle landed right on my sternum, bared by the dress. It dragged up the valley between my breasts. Slowly, slowly along the front of my throat, raising my chin. Our breathing was whisper-quiet. We couldn’t say a word but didn’t need to. For the first time in years, we couldn’t hide our truest desires beneath the armor of endless bickering. He dipped his head, coasting his lips over mine. Sweetly. Tenderly.
I pressed onto my toes, deepening the kiss. My arms wrapped around his neck, and his hands glided lazily down my spine. Our tongues met, mouths urgent, everything quiet. Instead of sexual frustration, this kiss betrayed our other, even more secretive desires. Not the sexual ones. It was every memory of the two of us filled with kindness, awareness, late-night jokes. It was caring, protection, real trust. It was the intimacy of knowing someone since you were eighteen years old, watching them grow into their honor, grow into their brilliance.
I remembered how young and boyish Sam had looked the day I brought him that cookie. We were just babies, barely twenty-five, but as he sat there, surprised at my gesture, I hadn’t wanted to fight with him or kiss him angrily. I’d wanted to stroke his hair, hold his hand, curl up on a couch and watch movies as I snuggled my head against his chest. This pure romantic yearning had stuck with me like a sharp thorn—a reminder that if I let Sam Byrne into my heart, there was no going back for me.
I clung to my partner, shuddering as we broke apart. He swallowed hard, ghosted his lips along my temple.
He hit the elevator button again. With a jerk, we started moving.
“Thirty seconds,” he said, stepping clear of me. His voice was still professional, but he kept our hands entwined until the doors slid open on the second floor. We stepped out, strode down the carpeted hallway. My heart beat wildly in my chest—even more so when Sam gave me one last wink before knocking on the hotel door.
Cora Alexander—resplendent in a silver gown—opened her hotel door immediately. At the sight of us, her hands flew to her mouth.
“Well, don’t you two look like royalty,” she squealed. Over her shoulder, she called out, “Darling, Birdie and Julian are here.”
To us, she dropped to a stage whisper. “And your masks are simply divine.”
Sam and I smiled at each other as Julian King and Birdie Barnes—rare book thieves, members of a secret society, undercover private detectives with federal agents listening in our ears.
“Oh, I can’t wait,” I said.
37
Sam
“Come in, you must be nervous,” Cora said, opening their hotel room door wider. Their room was even more ornate than ours, and they were both already dressed in their black-tie attire.
“We’re sorry about leaving so dramatically last night,” I said, catching Freya’s eye. “Dr. Ward was kind enough to let us slip out a side window. Birdie couldn’t go through the tunnels again.”
“Completely understandable considering your claustrophobia,” Cora said, waving her hand in the air.
“I trust you’ve ascertained the funding needed for tonight?” Thomas asked.
Freya and I nodded. “We are ready and prepared to take those letters home with us,” I replied.
Cora was busying herself with two masquerade-style masks. She brought a black and gold mask over to me, patting the edge of the bed. Amused, I sat, and she tied it around my face, covering the top half but leaving my nose and mouth visible.
Freya watched with barely disguised humor.
“How do I look?” I asked.
“Like the Phantom of the Opera but handsomer,” she said. “Tell us all about tonight’s festivities. Julian and I have been talking about it for ages. I can’t believe it’s